


Eden Found

by Gerec



Category: Logan (2017) - Fandom, Wolverine (Movies), X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Original Timeline Movies)
Genre: Allusions to Violence, M/M, Missing Scene, Spoilers for Logan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-09-28 06:50:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10078283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerec/pseuds/Gerec
Summary: Missing scenes from the movie. Canon compliant unless stated otherwise.1. Logan finally understands the Professor's words - Logan & Laura2. They have good days - Logan, Charles and the Sunseeker3. What happened in Westchester - Logan & Charles4. Charles discovers something different about Logan's body - Logan & Charles





	1. This Is What It Feels Like

**Author's Note:**

> Logan finally understands the Professor's words.

He shudders, the pain fading as the numbness settles in, the edges starting to blur around Laura’s face as she cradles him in her arms. He’s been in her exact place too many times; forced to watch those closest to him die before their time…

He’s relieved to be the one to go, this time.

“Daddy _,_ ” Laura whimpers, and now she’s crying, and desperately clutching at his hand. He wants to say so many things to her - his _daughter_ \- how much he’s come to care for her, in so short a time together. How much he sees himself in her, _too much_ of himself, and that he wants her to have a better life, and a better end. 

That he’s honored to have known her, and how proud he is, to be her father.

_You should take a moment, feel it._

The warmth in his chest grows, and he squeezes her back, just a little.

“So," he manages to say, just barely, trying to smile, his limbs, his whole body, getting heavier by the second. “Oh, so this is what it feels like.”

“Daddy? _No,_ ” Laura cries, and it’s…okay. She’s safe now, and she’ll be alright. She has friends, a family, like he did once upon a time.

Her face...her face.

It's the last thing he sees.

_—-_

_We’ve been waiting for you, Charles says - he's in his chair, back in an immaculate three piece suit - as he reaches to take Logan’s hand._

_Yes, we have. And it’s Ororo, radiant and full of life, tossing a can of beer at him with a grin. You sure kept us waiting a long time._

_Always gotta make a grand entrance eh? Scott quips, patting Logan on the shoulder. Right Jean? Can you believe this guy?_

_That’s our Logan, Jean replies, lips curving into a teasing grin. We’ve missed you. Welcome home._

_Home, Logan says._

_Yes, Charles answers, you still have time._


	2. Good Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have good days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can be interpreted as platonic or as Charles/Logan.

He wakes to the gentle swaying of the tide, his cheek pressed against a soft pillow. The air smells good – fresh, like the ocean – and when he opens his eyes he has to squint just a little; sunlight streams down the steps and through the windows, filtering into the cabin where he lays.

Struggling up and off the bed – no, there’s no struggling, his breath is easy and there’s no pain – he gets up and stretches, relishing the ache of a restful sleep. That’s how he knows that this isn’t real; it’s been too long since he’s had a good night’s sleep, and even longer since there’s been no pain.

“Out here,” a voice, _Charles’_ voice calls from the deck. He sounds younger, less strained and cantankerous, and when Logan steps out into the sunlight Charles is standing at the bow, dressed in a light blue button up and khaki pants, gazing off into the distance as the breeze gently ruffles his full head of hair.

“What’re we doing here?” Logan snarls, “Did you take your medication?”

“Why hello to you too,” Charles replies, reacting with a strange mix of good humored delight and offended sensibilities. “No, ‘ _it’s good to see you, Charles_ ’ or ‘ _blue’s a good color on you, Charles_ ’? Or how about - ‘ _wow, you got the details of the boat exactly right, Charles_ ’?”

“I don’t give a shit about any of that. You know what happens when you don’t take your meds.”

Charles shrugs but his shoulders are tense and when he turns to look at Logan, his eyes are soft and sad. “I did. Take them I mean. Today’s a good day.”

He sighs, and takes the mug offered by a grinning Charles, inhaling the fragrant scent of the Prof’s favorite blend. The man’s always had exquisite taste for the finer things – Scotch, antiques, vintage cars – but an appreciation for a good cup of coffee happens to be one of few indulgences they share.

It’s been a long time since he’s had one like this.

Not since they left Westchester.

Charles flinches, but doesn’t say anything, only coming to stand next to Logan, his own mug in hand. They watch the ripple of the waves as they lap gently against the hull; marvel at the slowly changing colors, shades of oranges and reds and purples as the sun starts to dip in the horizon.

“I don’t remember what happened,” Charles murmurs, rubbing slow circles with his thumb around the rim of the mug. “I suspect I could try, on a day like this, to sort things out. But something tells me it’s better that I don’t…” He sighs, and scrubs his face with the palm of his hand. “I think it might kill me, if I remember.”

“Hey,” Logan says, draping his arm around the Prof’s shoulders. “Not on my watch, alright?”

It manages to pull a wry chuckle from Charles’ lips, and neither of them choose to ruin the illusion, here or in the real world; to acknowledge that Charles is slowly losing his mind, piece by piece and day by day, and Logan is utterly helpless to stop it.

Instead, Logan finds himself sitting on some kind of lounger in the next instant, legs stretched out comfortably and his arms still wrapped snugly around the Prof at his side. Their mugs have disappeared, and there’s a warm blanket on their laps, and the sky is filled with twinkling stars as the boat rocks gently in the moonlit waves.

“I’ve always liked the water,” Charles whispers, as he reaches absently for Logan’s hand. “I used to swim in the lake all the time as a child. And I was on the swim team at Oxford, did I tell you that? Not a big fan of beaches, I’m sure you know, but _oceans_ …”

“I know.” Logan squeezes Charles’ hand. “I know.”

“You know this is probably as close as we’ll ever get, don’t you? I don’t think I'm going to make—”

“Shut up, Charles,” he snaps, because he doesn’t want to fucking hear it. Not now, not ever. “Just shut up.”

Charles laughs, tired and mirthless, but doesn’t argue. He pulls Logan’s hand into his lap instead, and then brings it his lips, pressing a tender kiss on the scars that crisscross the battered flesh. He looks down at his own chest then, and sees the slashes, and the badly healed wounds; sees the sparse threads of hair on Charles’ head when he turns, still resting against him, and the pockmarks and mottled veins on his emaciated hand.

“You look good, Charles,” he says, pressing a soft kiss of his own on Charles’ forehead. “Blue’s a good color on you.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by varrix.tumblr.com


	3. Don’t Look Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened in Westchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings apply.

He pulls the truck out of the garage and guns it down the long gravel driveway.

He doesn’t look back.

\---

When he finally regains consciousness, minutes, maybe hours later there is nothing but an eerie silence to greet him.

The Prof. is slumped over in his chair, a bruise forming on his temple, mottled and purple where Logan hit him, hard enough to knock him out. He scrambles to his feet, dizzy and wretched, and only breathes a sigh of relief when he manages to find a pulse.

And then he looks around the room, and proceeds to vomit all over the hard oak floors.

He goes to them, one by one by one, calling their names, shaking them, shouting, but there’s nothing. There’s nothing.

He finds more of them outside, in other rooms, all on their way to Charles, to help him, to make it stop.

None of them make it, save for Logan.

Grief wracks him for long moments, until his lungs hurt and he can’t breathe from the agonizing pain. He screams, and it only echoes harmlessly through the house, bouncing from room to room to empty room. He’s paralyzed by anger, the anguish holding him hostage, until the chiming of the grandfather clock jolts him back to this strange new reality. There’s no time to waste he thinks, as he scrambles to his feet; this was too big, too long, too powerful, too MUCH. They’ll be coming for Charles, and this time there’s no one to help cover it up; wipe it clean and make it go away.

There’s no one left, but Logan.

And there’s no rest for the Damned, even in a Hell of his own making.

He lurches down to the lab, and grabs all the medication he can find, sweeping them into a duffel bag he finds buried under a pile of old equipment. The rest of it – their clothes, the fake IDs and the cash he’s stashed away for months now – is ready to go in his closet, along with the bundle of blankets and sleeping bags. He ignores everything else around him as he works, the bodies on the ground, the guilt over what he’s about to do, and the rage barely simmering under the surface; that they all did this, let it get too far, thinking they could _fix_ it, help him, keep him safe.

They had time, he'd said. Just give it some more time.

He tosses the bags into the trunk next to the extra chair and slams the lid shut, before turning back inside. Charles is still out cold, still in his chair, oblivious to the devastation around him as Logan lifts him carefully, carrying him down the familiar hallways and into the garage. He sets him gently in the back seat of the truck and wraps him in a blanket, and hopes that he’ll wake up on his own eventually.

Hopes that he’ll wake up at all. And that he won’t remember what happened.

\----

He finds two canisters of gasoline by one of the antique cars – long forgotten, from the days when there were people around to drive them, and care for them – and takes them back inside.

He dumps the contents in Charles’ room, on the bed, and on the curtains.

But not on the floor.

He lights a match.

\----

“Come in.”

When he opens the door, Charles is already awake, and has managed to prop himself up into a seated position on the bed. He looks wan and tired, and Logan doesn’t have to ask to know that it’s going to be a bad day.

“Brought you a cup of tea,” he says, and sets the cup and saucer down on the nightstand. Charles doesn’t react, doesn’t acknowledge it or thank him, though he does turn his listless gaze on Logan.

“I miss her.”

“Yeah? Who’s that?”

Charles frowns, and shakes his head. “I don’t…I don’t know,” he whispers, “I should know. But I can’t…why don’t I know?”

“It’s okay. Charles, you--”

“No it’s not bloody okay, Logan! There’s something wrong with me! Something’s wrong with my brain, I can’t remember anything! And I can’t control my powers; I’m a danger to everyone around me! The people I love! Just yesterday I--”

“It was an accident. Everyone’s fine.”

“No!” Charles snaps, lunging forward and grabbing the front of Logan’s shirt, yanking him down onto the bed. “Don’t lie to me, you never have, so don’t start now. I need you to promise me…promise you’ll do what’s right. You won’t let me hurt anyone. You’ll stop me if you have to, can you do that, Logan? Can you?”

The surge of energy seems to dissipate in an instant, and Charles falls back against the pillows with a soft whimper. Logan hands him the cup, holding it along with Charles’ shaking hand, and gently guides it to his lips, watching as Charles takes a long, ragged sip.

“Don’t worry, Charles,” he says, “nothing bad’s gonna happen.”

Charles snorts. “Famous last words.”

\----

The room bursts into flames.

\----

He doesn’t look back.


	4. Silver or Lead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles discovers something different about Logan's body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this for a first sentence meme on tumblr; 'plata o plomo' means 'silver or lead'.
> 
> A missing scene that takes place prior to the events of the movie.

“Plata o plomo.” 

He’d thought using his old name again would be enough to fly under the radar, letting him shed ‘Logan’ and ‘Wolverine’ from the collective consciousness of the wide world like a snake shedding its skin. But no matter how far he goes and how hard he tries, there’s always somebody, _somewhere_ , that wants his particular set of ‘skills’.

“Plata o plomo.” 

A mobster from one of the big Cartels wants to hire him; knows what he is, and what he can do, and doesn’t like hearing no to his ‘generous’ offer. He keeps sending more men to ‘negotiate’ - men who like to kill, men willing to die for a bit of blood money, like he used to be - and he keeps giving them the same answer, and he loses count over how much blood and how many limbs and how many bodies…

They stop coming, eventually.

—-

“That’s new,” Charles says one day, out of the blue, his fingers slipping underneath his collar, tugging it wide. “Where did you get that? You didn’t have it before.”

He pulls back, and Charles makes a disgruntled sound, his hand falling onto his lap as Logan answers, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Charles snorts, “Bullshit. You didn’t have that two days ago.”

“You don’t remember what you had for breakfast an hour ago,” Logan snaps, and the twinge of guilt in his gut doesn’t stop him from shoving the pills into Charles’ hand. “Take your meds.”

Charles scowls though he does as he’s told, but then he’s grabbing Logan’s hand again and yanking him close. Trembling fingers press lightly against the raised and scabbed flesh, familiar and gently comforting, after all these long years.

“You’re being careful,” Charles says, not quite a question.

“Yeah,” he agrees, taking Charles’ hand and wrapping it gently within his own. “I always am.”


End file.
